


Whatever happens, I love you

by Trash



Series: Thirty Days [13]
Category: AFI
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Angst, Depression, M/M, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1475209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Davey thought he knew what depression was, until he met Adam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever happens, I love you

**Author's Note:**

> Day 13 of the 30 Day OTP Challenge - ice cream. Thanks to Moz for the title.

As a teenager Davey thought he understood depression. The inability to fit in and conform to the expectations of his family and teachers left him feeling depressed; his mom wouldn’t let him travel to Los Angeles for Morrissey’s Kill Uncle tour and he became depressed; Mark’s dad wouldn’t let them hold band practice in their basement anymore and he fell into depression. He understood it to require a lot of sullen looks, not combing your hair, locking yourself in your room and listening to Bauhaus and Nine Inch Nails, wearing your self-harm like a badge of martyrdom saying "look at my suffering".

He had no idea the real depths of depression, not until he started dating Adam. 

They had been friends since what felt like the dawn of time, yet Davey didn’t notice what Adam referred to as his ‘moments’ until they’d been officially dating for three months. He hadn’t really meant to, but he spent almost the whole day in the studio working on vocals. It was after eight at night when he got home and Adam was in bed. Smirking, he sat down beside him and stroked his hair.

“Early night, babe?” Davey asked, voice soft.

Adam stirred slightly, rolling onto his back. Bringing one hand up to take Davey’s he groans. “What time is it?”

“Eight thirty.”

“At night?”

Davey laughed.

“Fuck. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep this late.”

Davey stopped laughing. “You mean you haven’t gotten up yet?”

“Yeah,” Adam murmured, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I guess I was just exhausted.”

“It’s okay, you needed your beauty sleep. Maybe we could go out for dinner then, if you’re so well rested? I’m fucking starving.”

Adam sat up and looked anywhere but at Davey. “Rain check? I don’t feel like facing anybody right now.”

“Oh,” Davey said, trying not to frown, “okay yeah. Sure.”

It soon became a regular thing, Adam’s reluctance to do anything or go anywhere. The only time he left the house that week was to go to the studio, and even then he didn’t show up until the middle of the session – over three hours late. Across the room Jade mouthed something and Adam nodded, smiling weakly, and Davey felt distinctly left out. He wanted to call them both on it there and then, but it occurred to him that this might not be about him.

Later, at home, Adam sat on the couch staring at the blank screen of the TV whilst Davey made them dinner. He hadn’t seen Adam eat all day, and he refused to let him starve himself. Pouring himself a glass of juice and grabbing a beer for Adam he left the kitchen, took a seat beside him on the couch and held it out.

Adam took it, set it down on the table. “Thanks,” he mumbled, tried to smile.

“What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’? I mean – what’s going on, what’s wrong?”

Adam looked at him for the first time in the eye and shrugged. “Just having a day, you know?”

“Well, yeah. But this is more like a week, not just a day. Are you ever going to talk to me about it?”

Adam shrugged. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m fine.”

Davey barely controlled his frustration. “No, you’re not. What have I done?”

“Nothing,” Adam said with a sigh. He picked his cuticle over and over, wiped the blood that gathered in the small wound on his jeans and then went straight back to picking until Davey slapped his hand away. “I’m trying, Dave. Okay? Just leave it.”

So Davey did. He did his best ‘everything is fine’ act and went back to making dinner. Whilst they ate he made small talk, which wasn’t reciprocated, and when they went to bed he shoved his hand into Adam’s boxers only to get told he had a headache and that he was sorry. Well and truly offended Davey rolled over and tried to go to sleep, but his bruised pride kept him awake.

The next day he woke up alone, and glad that Adam was at least out of bed a little earlier than usual. He could hear the sound of drums coming from Adam’s studio, soft and steady like a heartbeat. He took the opportunity to poke around, going straight for Adam’s bedside cabinet. He pulls out old diaries full of touring schedules, locations and lewd drawings; a photo album; a book of ticket stubs. His hand found the bottle before his eyes did, and he pulled it out to inspect it.

The label on the brown pill bottle had last month’s date as the time the prescription was filled. “Sertraline?” Davey said aloud, trying the word out for size. “What the fuck is Sertraline?”

He put the books back in the cabinet but kept the pill bottle in his palm, sweaty and nervous as he made his way to the studio. As he got closer the noise level increased, and he opened the door without being seen.

When he was a teenager Davey would cut himself. He knew how deep to go, knew where he would be able to cut without them being seen by his mom and dad but where his friends would see them later when he was skateboarding. Adam used to say, “they’ll leave scars, you know.”

Davey shrugged it off, the idea of his battle scars being permanent thrilling him. “Whatever.”

And they had scarred. Later he had been ashamed of how blasé he had been about self-harm, learned to understand that although he wasn’t doing it for attention he also wasn’t doing it for the survival reasons others did.

He didn’t realise that, other than cutting, there were so many ways to self-harm. Not until he saw Adam slamming his wrist into the side of his snare over and over.

“Adam?”

Adam froze, turning to face Davey where he stood in the doorway. His face coloured and, when he saw the bottle in Davey’s hand, his eyes narrowed. “I guess we need to talk, huh?”

Davey took him out for vegan ice-cream. Adam ordered an elaborate sundae and Davey ordered a simple vanilla cone.

“That’s...suspicious.”

“What is?”

“You. You’re so far from vanilla. Are you making a statement?”

Davey laughed, flicked his tongue over the ice-cream. “No. I just like the flavour.”

Adam cleared his throat and shifted his weight in the booth. Bruises were blooming on his wrist and Davey couldn’t stop himself for reaching out to brush his thumb over them. “I used to put my cigarettes out on my inner bicep,” Adam said, quietly. “I got the compass tattoo to see if it would make me stop. It did. Now I do this.”

“I had no idea.”

“Good. That’s how I wanted things to be.”

“Jade knows, doesn’t he?”

Adam nodded, poked at his sundae with his spoon. “Only because he saw me doing it. Otherwise nobody would.”

Davey took his hand away. “Why do you do it?”

“For some sense of control,” Adam said. “I was diagnosed with clinical depression when I was twenty, that’s why I take the pills. They keep me stable, mostly, but then I have these moments. Where they can’t keep the blackness out any more. And that’s when I have to...I have to do something. On tour is fine because I can let it all out at the show, drink too much, not draw any attention to myself. But when we’re home it’s...fucking hard work.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Adam laughed. “Because I hate it. Do you know what it’s like to have to break your day down into step-by-step instructions for you to even make it through? It’s embarrassing. Some days I can’t even get out of bed or shower or eat or anything. And I always think, why can’t I just be normal?”

Davey didn’t know what to say, reached out to steal the cherry from the top of Adam’s sundae instead. “I love you,” he managed eventually, meeting Adam’s eyes with a shy smile. “I don’t think I’ve said that to you yet, which is ridiculous. I love you. And yeah, sure, I can’t fix it. But I can listen. I can...I can hold you when you need me to. I can drag you to the gym to burn off some steam. I can stand in line with you at the pharmacy. And that might not be enough but-”

“That’s more than enough,” Adam cut him off. “That’s plenty. I love you too.”

“Even though I like vanilla ice-cream?”

“Yeah, even though you like vanilla ice-cream. And even though you stole my fucking cherry, you asshole.”

Davey laughed, reaching under the table with one hand to squeeze Adam’s knee. “I’m sorry for being a jerk. I know everything isn’t all about me.”

“Isn’t it?”

Davey stared for a second until Adam’s face broke into a wide smile and Davey suddenly wanted to tell him how nice it is to see him happy again. One step at a time he thinks, and goes back to his ice-cream.


End file.
